This is my favorite photo. It was taken on my balcony overlooking the East Village on a hot August afternoon in 2012. I'd just returned home from the hospital after ten days in the Neurology Unit. The brain bleed didn't kill me. One aneurysm was coiled. I fell in love with several doctors. My family and friends stayed by my side. They dazzled me. They showered me with gifts: a Scrabble game, a new nightgown, coffee with half & half, warm socks, an i-Pad. Oh, I was happy to be home. My survival made me feel ... radiant!

Even before my sister posted "Diary of a Stroke" on Facebook, illness informed my writing. Several months after exchanging wedding vows at City Hall, my husband was disabled by an aortic aneurysm. When John died in 1995, our daughter was eight years old. Jessie and I learned a valuable lesson: You can mourn and still experience joy.

Today, many things give me joy. Babysitting for granddaughters Tallulah John and Ellery Connor tops the list. I serve as the Creative Consultant at an Off-Broadway theatre, expanding opportunities for theatre artists through a new initiative, "Urban Stages New Pages." I anticipate Monday luncheons with my sisters, grandchildren and great niece, and Thursday movement class with Tallulah John. I meet a friend for some "culture" and "whining & dining" mid-week. I love the stretch of time allotted to me on Wednesdays and Friday afternoons, when I write and write - and submit - and write some more. On the weekends, I go to the movies with my best pal, give my attention-deprived Chihuahua extra walks, play Solitaire (because I can't figure out how to download Ruzzle), and I fantasize about my next play, my next trip, my next meal.

Daily, I walk 10,000 steps (often with my dog; sometimes with my oldest sister). I eagerly open my email for good news and bad news. I celebrate my playwriting successes with a pint of ice-cream or any menu that includes bacon, and I use my rejections to work harder at my craft.

Monthly, I attend collegial playwriting groups, prepare my bills, and update my resume. Actually, I have two of them. One resume is for public use; the other is color-coded by year. It's called "Since I Had Brain Surgery." From August 2012 to date (March 2019), I've had 21 publications, 65 productions, 40 readings, and 48 honors/awards. Five films were shown in NYC, several Florida venues, and Ireland; three webisodes just wrapped shooting in LA. I produced nine short play series at Urban Stages; co-produced nine one-act and ten-minute play festivals at Abingdon Theatre; and facilitated the "Pencils Down: FAB's Monologue Mania Workshop" and reading at The Barrow Group. I also directed eleven short plays (Abingdon, Artistic New Directions, Urban Stages). I am fiercely proud of these accomplishments.

At the end of the day, there are so many things I still want to do. I want to be a better mother, sister, friend and neighbor; I want to write my best full-length play; I want to lose weight; I want to share my voice in all 52 states; I want to walk my granddaughter to school; I want to earn respect from my colleagues; I want to learn to win with grace and lose with grace. I want to learn how to navigate this web page and make an appointment to repair my torn rotator cuff. And while I'll never look like this six-year old photo again (I'm blonder and rounder), I want to FEEL like it as often as possible.